Honey 'n the Scouts
by TheHeroineIsMe
Summary: In which our copper coloured heroine finds herself going from Petra Ral to pop-star, centre of the newest, up & coming idol group: Honey 'n the Scouts(consisting of Erd, Auruo and Gunther, managed by Levi and Hange). Focuses on Squad Levi. Rivetra (Levi x Petra). Some Mobuhan. Things get further-turned upside down when Erwin and Mike turn up their own pop idol group T for language.
1. 36

A/N: A mash up of ideas. Hopefully not too strange a mash up? May be continued if anyone's interested.

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'36'

That's what the paper says. 36. She fiddles with it, turns it over in her hands, studies the curves and points of each number as if staring at it long enough would make them read differently. What number would she even want? A lower one? A higher one? She's nervous. But why? Everyone's time comes.

She looks to her right; down the row of cold metal chairs bordering this wall... at all of the women, who are here, just like her. All with little, ivory slips of paper in their delicate, manicured hands. And what makes her presence special? She doesn't know. She isn't dressed as cutely as half of them; they have cuter clothes, cuter noses, cuter eyes, cuter smiles. Cuter everything. The girl to her left is wearing heels. Ah! She should have worn heels... to make herself appear taller. She glances down at her own legs; her knees, spiced with freckles, peeking from beneath her ruffled, peach skirt, with a wide, brown, faux-flower decorated belt at the waist. A cute, puff-sleeve blouse on top. Copper eyes lower to her feet... chocolate ankle boots complete with bows at the heels, some 4 cm in height. Hm. She should have worn taller. Now that she thinks on it, a lot of these things require you be of a certain stature before you can even apply... she doesn't remember this venue specifying one. Wow. Watch her walk in there and get turned down the moment they lay eyes on her. … … … No. Trust yourself. You're better than that.

Her gaze lowers to the small slip of paper in her hands anew; it's been folded and rolled and hardly represents the crisp strip it once was. She smoothes it out in her fingers, attempting to undo the damage she's done, but it's fruitless; little folds and wrinkles and tears riddle the tattered thing. When she raises her gaze... the buzzing chatter and shouts of the populace are gone; the pulsing heat of the room is gone; the swirling whirr of the cicadas clinging to the outside of this metal building are gone, for there is no metal building. Amber eyes dart about, a slight upturn growing in her copper brow as... the world she knows... has disappeared—never-ending, without boundaries, painted in white; _everything_ is white... save a cord- thin and taught, crimson—knotted about the third finger of her left hand. It's as if she's floating; adorned in a silken, ivory dress... everything of her world has vanished, save for the memories in her mind. As she looks down, a light wave of relief starts to pour over her, the world coming into view; but it's not one she knows. A people, a time, a place not her own.

Silence... save the gentle, rolling whirr of a cool breeze that runs through the thickets above her and the grass far below her feet, tousling her amber locks about freckle-spiced shoulders, porcelain cloth rippling lightly. A speckled pattern of lights plays games with her vision, but finally, the earth below comes into view. A woman; a copper crown, a face painted in crimson, not unlike the string tied at her finger. She glances to it briefly; still there. The woman below... is seemingly gone from this world; her face blurred in Petra's vision... no matter how hard she squints she can't make out her nose, her eyes... her anything. However, clear as day is the thin, worn, garnet string tied at the woman's hand, in the same spot as her own; but it doesn't connect to hers... which fades into the distance.

A crunch. She's startled, craning her honey crown to the sky as she hears the harsh scrape of leather on tree bark; a small-statured man coming into view. Again, she can decipher nothing of his facial contours, though the breeze plays lightly with his silken, black locks. Though small-statured, his composure is rigid and sturdy, his hands grasping some sort of blades; and there it is again; on the same finger as her own... he too adorns a crimson string… which leads to the left hand of the broken, crumpled woman far below.

She starts to feel ill, somewhat dizzy, her knees weak though she isn't even standing. No. No. No. No! She gasps out, feeling as if she might suffocate- Again... she's floating. Is this a dream? Thickly lashed lids close over copper orbs as her brow breaks with this sudden, faint feeling that washes over her; she feels as if she'll fall, the light breeze turning to a whirlwind of sorts; brushing her lavish, ivory dress at her ankles, her amber fringe at her forehead. And… her ears are flooded with the busy sound of screechy cart wheels, the buzz of people, incessant footsteps and chatter, shouts and the whirr of cicadas. Her eyes shoot open suddenly, breathing in sharply, her face and body dotted in cold sweat as her lungs are pierced by the swift, knife-like inhale.

"Woah. You okay?"

A hand outstretched to her. And for a second, she swears she sees an azure string knotted on his finger... but in a flash, it's gone. What the hell's happening? She shakes her head lightly, copper bangs playing at her forehead as she laughs with a trill, a tad nervously, amber brow upturned over honey eyes. An anxious smile.

"Ah, heh- yeah. I'm fine."

No she isn't. Golden irises rise to the man before her; chestnut eyes, tawny hair, a face well worn by time and stress. In all sincerity, he looks fairly miserable though he greets her fondly. He wears a sage oxford with a little name tag over the right of his chest. _Moblit Berner -_ _Backstage Director_

"You're 36, right? They're calling you,-."

"Petra. My name is Petra."

"Petra... Are you sure you're up for this?" The man with such familiarity to anxiety seems to be able to read hers, his face reflective of such a sensation.

"Yeah." She smiles rather genuinely—Well, of course she's nervous and... she's slightly worried that when she makes herself to her feet that she won't be able to stay standing. But, otherwise, fine.

"Well, this way then, Petra." He turns, guiding her through the bustling building, a striking chill spreading up her spine though the structure itself is smouldering. She dodges this way and that, giving slight bows and nods and waves of apology with upturned brows as her presence seems to serve as a burden to everyone they encounter on their way backstage; people moving equipment or with carts, carrying coffee or speakers. She studies his back as they walk—geez, he's tall. She feels conscious of her height again—she should have worn heels. The lights on the high-vaulted ceilings above are bright and piercing; she hadn't noticed it whilst sitting, but now that she's walking, it's as if everything were covered in a pale haze. Arriving at a cubbyhole behind a set of curtains, the man turns to her, handing her a packet with an anxious smile—filled with hasty sketches of poses alongside lyrics to the song she listened to on repeat this morning over breakfast from their web-site; guidelines to what they'll want her to do should she get past the 'questions stage' he explains. She nods, giving him a small, pink-lipped smile.

"Study these until you're called—and don't be nervous."

Such an interesting phrase... _Don't be nervous_. Normally, it only tends to increase one's anxiety. However, for once, the utterance actually seems to calm her—set her in a joyous mood; if only for the fact that this man she's known for a whopping 10 minutes embodies nervousness and anxiety in everything he does; his job seems rather stressful. She giggles inwardly: _Don't be nervous._ Coming from him, such a phrase is comical. _Thanks, Moblit Berner. I won't. _She nods, copper locks brisking her shoulders and as he turns to leave her—she swears again, to have seen a cobalt knot tied about his finger—the crimson string tied at hers that she keeps seeing in brief flashes continuing beneath the charcoal curtain behind which she waits. But—again, in the blink of an eye, it's gone, and... so is he—long off shouting and being called by others, his voice resounding over the buzz as he relays orders.

However, even with the man's encouragement, it's not as if she wasn't somewhat jittery—she's just been told to memorise a series of poses and movements to go to the song she played all morning. Should she practice? Hn... It'll look terribly foolish should someone walk back to get her and see her posing—No. It doesn't matter what they think—what matters is her performance in the moment. She reads over the sketches, singing lightly under her breath the lyrics that go with each part, attempting to mimic the poses; strikingly, clearly... and to remember to smile throughout it. Who wants a pop star that furrows their brows and grits their teeth whilst dancing because it's such a struggle to remember the choreography? And for once today, time feels short; 10 minutes gone in a span that feels like 10 seconds. She can feel her knees lock and her heart drop to her stomach, her gut twisting into knots, a nervous, chilling sweat spreading her skin as her number is called—somewhat harshly.

"Oi! Next. 36."

She swallows hard, feeling the tap tap tap of her boots resound in her skull with each step she makes to the room over, that haunting red string guiding her the entirety of the way; only to disappear as she enters the open area, copper eyes gleaning over the three people behind a clothed table along one wall.

"Tch. Hurry it up."

"Levi."

"Piss off, Shitty Four Eyes. You fucking know we don't have all day for this."

A snotty smile and cheekily raised eyebrows. "Why? Need to shit?"

"Tch."

She makes her way to the centre of the room, certain to stand tall and sure of herself despite the lack of heels she wishes she was wearing, the swirl in her gut, the knots in her throat and the locking of her freckle-spiced knees. She stands, waiting for the two people she recognises from a a boy band centuries ago to finish their bickerment; she notes how nasalised the woman on the left with the dishevelled, chestnut locks and the keen glasses is; there's a sort of guttural sound to her voice, a shit-eating grin painting her contours as she makes eye contact with the shorter man beside her; of small stature, sharp, ashen eyes, a thin jaw and brow line. On the woman's hand, an azure string—only for a second as she's shaken from her pensiveness to the current reality.

"Well. She's a cutie. You're #36, right?"

She shares a confident nod, giving a soft smile though she feels as if she were unraveling like a delicate cloth. A sweaty, delicate cloth.

"Yes. Petra Ral."

A wide grin by the woman behind the table. "You seem certain of yourself. That's good. You might already know us, but in case you don't, I'm Hange Zoe. Short stack next to me here's Levi."

"Tch."

Petra feels as if from the very second she entered this room he's been piercing her form with sharp, thin eyes. A porcelain cup, filled with what Petra only assumes to be tea-grasped at the rim with delicate fingertips-, is lowered from his hand to the counter with a clink.

"He's a bit of an ass, but you'll learn to love him. Also, I'll translate anything that comes from his mouth. He's a bit of an anomaly." A nasalised chuckle. "Your file's pretty thin. History?"

"A-ah. I don't have any." She feels suddenly a tad more nervous, though she attempts to hide it best she can. Looking over the man deemed to be Levi, she studies him a second; Yes. She remembers him. Those thin, charcoal eyes; harsh, his small stature that demands attention and intimidation despite his height, the grooves apparent beneath his thick, lower lash line—a member of that idol group that disbanded a few years ago without explanation; rumour has it it was a rather dark ordeal. As a giggly high school teen, she had never really cared for Levi; the blonde one with the strong eye brows and genuine, azure gaze was the one who'd caught her heart. Erwin. Yeah. That's right. Erwin Smith. She laughs inwardly at herself thinking of this; she was such a fool for him- posters and all. Though those things found their way to the rubbish pile years ago. She's grown now. Hmmm... Her delicate fingers begin to play a nervous game and she looks down, breathing in sharply as that garnet thread knotted over her skin appears and vanishes in an instant. ... She rubs the spot pensively. Is she losing her mind?

"Oi!"

Copper eyes raise instinctively to the harsh, sharp little man in the suit and... old-time fluffy, neckwear thing... What's that called again? Ah... a cravat. She thinks for a second on how much more pleasant this whole ordeal would be under the guy she had the hots for back in junior high.

"Yes, sir!" It was as if she were responding to orders...

"Tch. Shitty Four Eyes just asked you to perform the routine, shithead."

A harsh tone. "Levi." A nasalised chuckle. "That's his way of saying sweetheart."

_Shithead? _He's unexpectedly tense, rude and unapproachable considering his infamousness and history...

"A—Ah! Of course." A thin smile comes to her lips, revealing her copper crown as she bows ever so slightly before breathing in deeply, scared out of her bloody mind her voice will crack. That song that's so routinised from this morning -she might scream if she hears it one more time- is played from the intricate sound system high above her head and she begins counting to herself before she makes a swift hip bump to the right, the peach tulle of her dress and her copper locks swaying in unison, a playful, closed-lip smile painted over her face with bright eyes and—she only gets 5 and a half words out before—

"Enough."

She stops suddenly, stones dropping into her gut. Wow. This... surely went worse than expected.

"Now, Levi..."

"She's the one."

She nearly feels her heart jump out of her throat. She—who has no special background, no talent agency, nothing... w—was chosen? Is... this a dream? The whole day has felt like one. She rubs idly at the spot on her finger where she keeps hallucinating that crimson thread to be anew, noting that Levi... does the same. Is he absentmindedly mimicking her because he's staring that bloody hard?... It doesn't matter. All she wants now is to call her father; she got it. She made it. She did it. She came here to try-out today, but she wasn't so blind as to nor realise that with her background, such an outcome would be extremely unlikely.

"W—what?" For the first time in a long time, his words have surprised the loud-mouthed, once-co-star of his. She adjusts her glasses, her round, chestnut orbs painted with excitement, curiosity and confusion.

"Tch. Just as I said, Shitty Four Eyes."

A shit-eating grin spreads across her face from cheek to cheek, speaking with a tone intended to tease. "Oooooh!"

"Piss off, Hange."

She turns to Petra, winking cheekily. "Guess he's got a thing for strawberry blondes, Petra."

"Tch. No. She was the first fucking girl who came the fuck out here and was the least bit capable in singing and dancing without bloody squealing or stuttering in my presence. She's capable. She's hired. I'm done with this shit." Though, unadmittedly, he finds nothing wrong with strawberry blondes. She can feel the weight of his piercing gaze continue to meticulously pick her apart as she rubs idly at the spot on her left hand anew.

Her pensiveness is broken by an obnoxiously loud laugh of excitement that causes a grimace to paint the deadpan, shorty's contours. "Welp! Welcome to the family, Petra! Moblit and Nifa will get you settled in! Introduce you to your boys and all!"

And just like that; in the strangest of encounters, she found herself going from Petra Ral to pop star; lead female idol of the newest, upcoming, male idol group.


	2. Well, congrats, Petra!

"Well, congrats, Petra!" His speech is fast, weaving her quickly through the mass of people, words pouring from his mouth at a rate she can't fathom whenever he's stopped and asked for guidance by others. He wastes no time in getting her to her new destination.

"Ah! Oh, thanks, Moblit." She smiles, giggling inwardly to herself as her mind revisits the the advice the world's most nervous man gave her just minutes prior. "You helped you know."

"What? Oh, really? I wish I could take my own advice sometimes."

_Me too_, she thinks.

"So, uh… you need to have your agent file and sign those documents for you and get back to us as soon as possible if you decide you want the position. It's a year contract." Another rapid response to someone seeking his guidance behind the scenes.

"Oh, I uh… I don't have an agent."

"Wait—what?" And for the first time today, he stops- turning to face her _before_ they enter the door she assumes to be the one of destination. "You don't have an agent? And you got chosen?"

"Oh… uh…" A break in her copper brow as a warm smile paints her lips. "No, I- I don't have an agent." Wow… did she just royally mess this up for herself? They were doing national auditions after all, she didn't imagine they'd even come to this small city, nor did she imagine that everyone would have agents; the advertisements regarding it all were somewhat awkward and shoddy, abrupt. Maybe the pissy cravat man wrote them?

"Oh. Well, that's not a bad thing per se. You can fill them out yourself. Hange and Levi are good people. They won't screw you over or anything. Plus, knowing you don't have an agent to deal with will help put you on _his_ good side, since it probably took some persuasion on Hange's part to get you this far, huh?"

However, she doesn't get the chance to explain that sexy, pissy shortstack was actually the one to choose her, as Moblit is called rather suddenly and urgently from her side, in a matter regarding Hange—She can read in him, the very moment that woman's name is mentioned, he's set in a panic; his brow breaking over chestnut eyes and face contorting in worried anguish. She smiles softly to herself as he heads off in a tizz; _Don't be nervous, Mr. Moblit Berner. _ Giggling lightly, she lowers her copper gaze to the documents in hand: most of the fields will have to be left blank or filled with 'N/A'. Hm, well, she's here now, she can bother with that later. Plus, there's supposedly three hot guys –her future band mates- awaiting her on the other side of this lukewarm, metal door; there's no time to waste.

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A/N: Thank you to everyone that has reviewed thus far; critique or positivity. Your words are appreciated. Also, I apologise for the short length of this chapter. It will be made up for in Chapter 3.


	3. Well, here goes nothing

A/N: I apologise that it's been so long since the last update. I hope that however late, you may enjoy. Thank you kindly to all that have left comments; positive or of critique. Your words are encouraging.

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Well, here goes nothing. She breathes in deeply as she feels the give of the bar handle of this rather heavy, metal door; a harsh creak flooding the room upon entering to find three guys gathered in one corner of the room… One sits, a rather solid expression painting his stern face, charcoal eyes on the screen of the mobile phone his fingers so effortlessly glide over. The second- tall, with a light layer of facial hair in the dip above his chin- huddled over the table that's piled with snacks on the far wall. The third- next to him, slightly shorter, with a raisin-like face, somewhat shrivelled- talks with a boastful, drawn-out tone to the second about the way women were so excitedly discussing him this morning.

"Haha, yeah, except—they've never seen you!" A punch in the shoulder to his 'future family' paired with a charming grin, eyes scrunched in laughter.

Displeasure. His wrinkly face contorts further; tawny eyes closed beneath a strong brow with a scoff. "Tch. Eeeeeh—Well, it's only a matter o' time."

"…"

They almost don't seem to take notice of her, and raisin-face… doesn't seem real.

"…"

Are these… her future bandmates? Weren't they supposed to be total dreamboats? She reconsiders things… The one with the flippy, blonde ponytail? Sure. Yeah, he's hot. She can even see the appeal of the buff, stoic guy with the chestnut for a head that's texting silently in the plush armchair. Sure. Yeah. Okay. But… the third guy? What is he… like, 40? The prominent, wavy lines in his forehead… the puffy bags and grooves beneath his sandy orbs… the lightly sagging skin at the corners of his mouth… The ad said no older than 22. Several of the women in line this morning had gossiped in giggles about the final male member being selected in her city's try-outs yesterday. Maybe it was just a rumour? Surely he couldn't be one of the 'hotties' she'd be working with.

Finally, the tall, blonde one turns toward the door, instantly smiling as he meets her honey gaze with his of sky. "AH! Hey! Are you here about the snacks? I wanted more of these little, powdery, doughnut things." He holds up a half-eaten package of the item in question.

The surprise is painted on her face; the light widening of her copper gaze and her lips that come slightly agape. Does… she… look that out of place? Here she was thinking _they_ did, though the one asking about the dusty treats the least so. Asshole. Though she doesn't necessarily think herself pop star material, she's surely has a stronger presence than 'doughnut delivery girl'.

"Petra!"

"A—ah?" Her gaze contorts from one of annoyance to displeasure, shooting to raisin-face. "How do you—how do—"

A face of pure excitement, pointing to himself. "It's me! Don't you remember?!"

"No." She shares with him the most creeped out of expressions. How does he know her name? She squints, studying his features; she's certain she would have remembered fake-gangster prune-eyes had they ever met. She lifts her copper gaze back to the blonde, noting the confusion in his face. _Me too, doughnut guy. Me too._ A strange spark of a bond strikes her as she stares doughnut guy's confusion head on with her own; they're _both_ bloody lost. A coy curve comes to warm lips, she can read the confused amusement in his eyes as well.

"Ah. I'm Petra. Petra Ral…. From… here." An outstretched hand.

Copper eyes dwell too long on the azure string knotted about one finger as he returns the gesture, noting the strength in her grip though she's of such dainty stature. "Haha, Erd Ginn. Dartford." A quirk to one blonde brow with a smile. "So, if you aren't here about the doughnuts, I'm assuming you're a try-out?" She's cute, he'll give her that. Though, a little on the short side for such a position.

"Oh. No. I uh… well, sort of. I mean, _I was_."

"Ah. Sorry to hear that, Petra. You get lost?"

"No. Uh, Moblit brought me back here."

A genuine smile spreads his face almost instantly. "Ah! You're our centre member!" His hug envelops the entirety of her form before pulling back, hands on her freckle-spiced shoulders.

"Guaaaaaaaaa!"

They both turn, eyes met with raisin-face, blood streaming his wrinkled skin and speckling the concrete at his feet. He seemingly had bitten his tongue in his haste to spout words of pleasure, flirtation and surprise.

_That's_ when copper eyes widen and her amber brow upturns; sheer horror and confusion and disbelief painting her contours. She remembers.

"Bl-bloodsprinkler?!"

It's _him._ Wow- has time dealt him something awful- it's only been a couple years and… he wasn't _half _this wrinkly in secondary school. But she's certain—it's him. On the volleyball team- libero… Almost every match ended prematurely because the court would be deemed unsanitary by the crimson that splattered the floor whenever he attempted a save. Usually, the save worked… but… that didn't really matter considering the matches were postponed or had a 20 minute remission because of him.

With the help of a bundle of napkins, the bleed is brought to a stop.

"Oi, Petra. It's been so long."

An inward grimace. She sighs. How the hell did he land this position? I mean, she was hesitant on her own likelihood, but… Auruo Bossard? Such a dork. She remembers now. Whilst her 16-year-old self was off in la-la land about Erwin Smith from her new boss' old boy band, Auruo was obsessed with shorty badass—he even had a clear file of him for maths. That was around the time she remembers him starting that weird, drawn-out pattern of speech and scrunching his face to a raisiny mess. He was… trying to emulate Levi? No. There's no way this could be real. . . She… doesn't know what to say. The world already felt once like it had stopped today… and again now… does she even want it to restart?

"Yeah… it's been a while."

"Okay. So you and bloodsprinkler here know each other? That's pretty uncanny." He picks up her use of the nickname, which Auruo seems none too pleased with, responding with a muffled grimace about the bunch of napkins he holds to his outstretched tongue.

"Yeah. Same high school."

"Well, Mr. Hidden-away-on-his-phone-blogging over there is Gunther Shulz. Also from Dartford."

A wave of a hand in dismissal to say 'leave-me-out-of-this'. She swears she spots a flash of cerulean tied about one finger, a string, leading… to her hand. And in all but the moment it takes him to lower the gesture, it's gone.

Erd laughs, hands on his hips. "Really, what a coincidence. Two pairs of two that already knew each other before this all happened. Gunther was actually the first to be selected."

A further wave of a hand in dismissal.

"But it's been over two weeks since then. I was wondering when this would actually pick up. Hah. We finally got our female lead."

So she's… like the Hange of this idol group? Wow… she can't wait to tell her father this evening. He'll likely be… surprised… and happy for her, though, displeased as well. This wasn't the path he had wanted her to take. She was 'a brilliant, beautiful girl' as he'd said. Which is why she didn't have an agent or anything; it's not that he didn't believe in her, but they'd had many arguments over her pursuing something that would keep her local; a local university, which she now attends, to get a local job, to stay here. 'You never really think about what your father wants.' He's said it so many times. But she _has_ thought about it, and doing something like this… means a lot to her. She wants to pursue something bigger, travel the world, live her youth. Her pensiveness is broken, after having missed out on half the conversation between Erd and Auruo -and four poorly made flirtatious advances by raisin-face- by the sudden burst of Hange, pursued by a panicked Moblit, into the room. Nasalised, guttural laughs pour from her lips as Levi follows along flatly behind them.

"Heyooooooo, newbies! Tonight we're having a meet-and-greeeeeet so get reaaaady! We're going to dinner! First thing in the morning's the photo shoot!"

"Tch. This fucking dinner was supposed to be to discuss potential names and finalise paperwork, Shitty Four Eyes. Don't turn it into some fucking drinking night."

"Ooooo! Come on now, Leviiiii. It's a special night. We haven't been in an idol group in 3 years and they've never done anything like this! It calls for a celebraaatiooooon! … … Or are you still constipated?" The most shit eating of grins spreads her face with playful, narrowed eyes.

"Piss off, Hange."

"Come on! They've gotta get to know each other like you and I know each other."

A light grimace. "Tch. You don't fucking know me, Shitty Four Eyes."

"Ooooooo? I know you've got a thing for strawberry blondes."

"….."

"Alright, we'll just go withouchya, Levi." She turns away with a grin, knotting her fingers behind her back, though her chestnut orbs are still pinned in his direction, obviously awaiting the words to come.

Hnnnn….. Why did he decide to do this with Shitty Four Eyes again? No. There's no fucking way she's filing paperwork and making a single decision void his presence. Plus, she'll just get them all wasted off their asses and then their idol photos will end up looking like they chose some ratty, squaloring, university brats. Hnnn. There's no way Erwin and Mike would ever let him live that down. Have they finished choosing the shitty brats for their idol group yet? He heard they were going for a generation younger than what he and Hange had selected. He's silent a spell, face flattening, the grandest 'I'm so done with this shit' sort of deadpan to paint his face to date. "Hnn. Alright, Shitty Four Eyes. Berner. You're coming."

"Yahoooo!" She turns, hopping into the nervous, aforementioned man's arms. If he weren't such a big guy, his ass would likely be brought to the floor by her swinging mass.

_Don't be nervous, Moblit Berner._


End file.
